


The Attic

by HellsPurestDevil



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Modern verse, Photographs, Thomas Misses his Wife, attic, photo album
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 08:03:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14828510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HellsPurestDevil/pseuds/HellsPurestDevil
Summary: In the faint light of the attic, Jefferson, tall and stooped, bent his frame and made his way to a stack of boxes that sat near one of the little half-windows. It was a early summer day...





	The Attic

In the faint light of the attic, Jefferson, tall and stooped, bent his frame and made his way to a stack of boxes that sat near one of the little half-windows. It was a early summer day, Madison was at work. He for a change, had been the one to called in sick this time. His summer cold wanted to break him. He hated to call in sick on Fridays, so many did, but summer colds always seemed to make his chronic migraines hurt more and after waking up to an ugly headache and a spine that felt as if it had been turned to glass he knew today would be one of those days.

So he had sent Madison off to work, his oldest off to school and his youngest off to sleep in her crib, and two Tylenol later, Jefferson fell asleep in his favorite chair by the window. Now two hours later, his youngest was still sleep and his headache had dulled to a light throb. But something else had taken its place in his mind beside his headache.

He had dreamt of her again and something told him to go into the attic. Any other day he would have pushed aside the want throbbing in his chest. But today felt different and soon he was pulling down the drop-stairs to the attic and lowering his head as he climbed them up to the dusty attic.

The attic was his solitude, no one came up here. Madison refused because of all the dust and Pasty because of the claustrophobic feel. Brushing aside a wisp of cobwebs, he carefully tilted the top box toward the light and began to carefully lift out one old photograph album after another. Eyes once bright now dim, searched longingly for the source that had drawn him here.

The dream had been a fond recollection of the love of his life, long gone. And as he searched, he hoped somewhere deep in these albums, that there was a photo of her that he had not destroyed while in the grief he had suffered immensely from after her death. Silent as a mouse, he patiently opened the long buried treasures, rediscovering a long lost sea of memories. Old family photo albums, high school photo’s, pictures of events he could scarcely remember. Family, friends, friends of friends, family of friends.

But nothing of her. Sometimes his heart would swell, when He often at times would pass by a person in the background of some photos that he though was her, but it always turned out to be a family member or some passerby, and his heart would deflate again. Today was no different. No matter what he did or how many times his thumbs hurt grabbing the corners of the pages, he could never find a photo- a lone survivor who out ran his grief.

Sighing and feeling the dull throb of his headache start up again, he kicked the box harshly. It tumbled over and a string of old dusty albums came falling out. But from within the flopping of old albums came a harsh screech of metal. Kneeling down and pushing away the fallen albums, he had found what made the screeching. A old metal lunchbox, faded pink with purple flowers. There was a name on the front,

 ** _Patsy_**.

It was written in faded marker. The lunch box had been his oldest’s, the hand writing had _been_ …..

No matter how much he had searched his memory banks, he could not remember the last time he had seen this box, not since his oldest had been in preschool. _Why did Martha always insist on keeping Patsy’s old junk_? He wondered, shaking his head. Curiosity enticed him and he flicked the lock on the box and slowly flipped its lid, as if half expecting a jumpscare or something.

The contents of the box where nothing really special. Some of Patsy’s old drawings from when she was younger, some old small spare toys, some rocks and shells from their time by the water and….

Jefferson cocked his head and raised his brow. At the bottom of the box, He lightly scooped up a small notebook. The front had his daughters name scrawled on it. It looked like a journal, but he couldn’t remember it, nor could he recall Patsy ever owning one. Opening the yellowing pages, he glanced over short reading after short reading and felt his lips curve in a unconscious smile.

In his ears rang the voice of the little girl who grew up to fast in this very house, a little girl who became more and more like her mother with each passing day. In the utter silence of the attic the voice, soft and sweet, worked it’s magic and brought the aging man back to a time he almost nearly forgot, back when his darling wife had still been around and everything was happy. The world may had kept spinning after she was gone, but over time his had slowed to a mere dizzying end. As he flipped through the pages, something came loose and seesawed it’s way to the ground. He bent over to pick it up, and on the back of it he could see writing.

_To my darling Tom_

He flipped the item and his breathe caught in his throat. He looked at it for a long while,stunned into silence, before the cries of his youngest snapped him out of his daze. Frantically he stuffed the object into his breast pocket and went back down the stairs.

The albums left where they were, completely forgotten.

_____

It was around 3 o'clock was Pasty returned from school. She pulled into the two car garage, got out, shut the door and made her way into the house. It was strangely quite, not even Polly’s babbling could be heard, which was strange cause mostly she would be awake when dad got a head start on making dinner.

As she made her way into the living room, she saw the reason for the immense silence. From the doorway she could see that her father was asleep in his favorite chair, her baby sister curled up asleep on his chest. On his face was a light smile as he snored softly.

In his hand, she noticed, but could not believe, was a picture of her mother and him on their honeymoon. It had been taken in secret by a family friend that had bumped into them, and hidden by her mother in an old lunch box she had used as a time capsule.

But that was unknown to either of them. And later Patsy would ask her father later where he had gotten it-she could have sworn he had gotten rid of all of the photos. But she remembered how close they were, and saw how peaceful her father looked holding onto that photo. So She just turned away, she didn’t want to wake him, and spoil his dreams of her.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments Are much appreciated 
> 
> Please..?


End file.
